


Lucky Number 13

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Mary Russell - Laurie R. King, Merlin - Fandom, Person of Interest (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (2012), Warehouse 13
Genre: Gen, but it'll probably be fun, have I lost my mind?, possibly, tags and shit will be changed as I go because yeah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves, Artifacts, sorcerers older than dirt, and resurrected kings from a land of myth and a time of legend. Must be Tuesday for Stiles Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Things In This World

**Author's Note:**

> I would like it to be noted in the Captain's Log the time and date I've officially gone off my nut, 'cause, guys, it's been nice knowin' ya.

"Claudia, I know you can hear me, babe, just give me a line on who Blondie and the moose are and I'll go back to using the comm line for naughty utterings." Stiles Stilinski promised, his finger steady on the trigger of his Tesla. 

"Stiles, I don't know! I've seen them before, I think, but I can’t...wait. These guys: one's really tall, and the other's really handsome." 

"Too blond to be my type, but yes." Stiles whispered, getting a better bead on the suited "agents" that were definitely not US Marshalls. 

"I don't get what you have against blondes." 

"Be thankful you didn't go to my high school." Stiles replied lightly, "Look, these guys are so big I'd have to recharge the Tesla after shooting one of them, give me something to buy me time." 

"Do what you always do when you have no idea what you're doing." Claudia Donovan ordered desperately, her hand flying over the keys, pulling up more data on the two men hunting Stiles for the Artifact he'd just collected. 

"Yanking down my pants and burbling 'pudding' only worked once, Claude." Stiles retorted, bursting out of his cover suddenly in a flail of limbs, a grin plastered on his face, "Hello, boys! FBI, Special Agent Stiles Stilinski--" 

"Look, you're in danger," the shorter of the two told him in a voice like sandpaper and whiskey, his green eyes boring into Stiles, "we know you have the jewellery--" 

"Puzzle box--" The tall one corrected. 

"--Puzzle box...thing...it's dangerous, dude, you--" 

"Vatican cameos." Stiles heard over Dean Winchester's pleading grate of words, his eyes going huge before he ducked, pressing his eyes closed. His ears popped as his partner unleashed a small ball of purple-orange light that burst the second her hand unfolded from around it. 

Natasha Potts grinned at him from under her heavy safety goggles when he straightened after five slow breaths, the slight shimmer of glitter in the air hazing out. "What would I do without you?" Stiles laughed, grinning. 

Nat smirked back, fisting either side of his jacket and shaking him into place, "Get mugged by the brothers Plaid?" 

"Claudia, my chaud darling, we have the puzzlebox of Avalon." Stiles reported. 

"Okay, Stiles: whatever you do, don't let yourself start playing with the box." Claudia ordered menacingly. 

"Baby girl, I've met three people who played with the box to the point where their fingers started bleeding and they had to be physically restrained to stop them from hurting themselves further trying to get back to it. One guy didn't have anyone to stop him and died. I know not to let myself play with it." 

"Play with yourself instead." Claudia sighed snidely. 

"Yes, ma'am." Stiles chirped back, grinning. Nat pulled a face, shuddering to make Stiles laugh. Stiles shrugged his arm around her shoulders, blowing a handful of silver powder into the faces of the stunned men, climbing onto the back of Natasha's motorcycle as they came out of their stupor, yelling after a couple of minutes and trying to give chase on foot. "A puzzlebox that's damn near impossible to solve, that won't let you stop trying until it's solved." 

"What will they come up with next?" Nat drawled, the smirk clear in her voice.

"A pair of slippers that give you the ability to do perfect martial arts, whether your body is capable of it or not? A bar chair that will disappear anyone who sits on it? Oh, wait, those were _last week_." 

"So, mister mysterious, why are blondes not your type?" 

"...I'm more of a tall, dark, and handsome type, really." Stiles felt his ears heat. 

"But...there was that muscle-bound idiot in Greece…" 

"Ew." 

"Wait...you're demi-sexual...you already have your tall, dark, and handsome." Nat pieced, "Claudia, dig for me, baby!" 

"She will not help you play cupid, why are you still on the line with her, get off the line!" Stiles smacked at her leather-clad back, listening to her laugh. "I hate you." 

"Baby, I'd hate me, too." Nat snickered. "So who's this Derek character you've been groaning about in your sleep?" 

"Fuck you, buckaroo." Stiles grumbled. "Claudia, if you dig, I will hack you so hard you will never, ever get a piece of technology to work for you again." 

"Baby, you're good, but you're not that good." Claudia crackled onto his earpiece. "Besides, if I wanted to dig, you wouldn't know I was digging." 

"I would if Nat started really digging into her want to be cupid." Stiles snorted. "I don't need a blast from my past, thank you, Tweedle Cruel and Tweedle Unusual." 

"What did you possibly do to your karma to get us as punishment?" Claudia laughed, playing along. 

"It involved drag queens, spiked punch, a bad acid trip, and a lizard-lookin' monster of Old Vengeance. Don't ask: you don't want to know." 

"So that's why you never invite me home, huh?" Nat laughed. 

"You can take the crazy out of the boy, but you cannot take the boy out of the crazy." 

"I'd dispute that, but we have taken a lot of crazy out of a lot of people." Claudia agreed. "Of course, most Warehouse agents end up crazy, evil, or dead--or even some form of all three--so I can't really say that you can take the crazy out of someone." 

"Claude, don't sound sad, baby, we love you and we will love you forever." 

"Myka and Pete were good agents, guys: you would've liked 'em." 

"I'm sorry Moffat's Weeping Angel garden statues took them out, Claude. Have you found where they were zapped to?" 

"Not yet. If it was a canon kind of Ponds thing, I still haven't found obits for them." 

"I'm taking that as a good sign." Natasha told her supportively, "If anyone could find them, it'd be you." 

"Enough about that jazz, guys; the static bag didn't work on the puzzlebox?" 

"No sparks. Didn't react to gooing, either." Stiles confirmed. "But that's happened before." 

"Yep, it has, just bring it in, we'll put it in the Unreachables. The victims calm down after three days, right?" 

"Appears that way, yes." 

"Then we'll leave it alone. You hear me, Stilinski? _Leave it alone_."

"I'm not crazy enough to try to solve it, I like my fingers just the way they are, thank you." 

"Good." 

"Did your predecessor teach you that menacing tone?" 

"Baby, be glad you never met Artie. Or Mrs. Fredric. Be very, very glad." 

"How's Jinks doing in beautiful Brazil?" 

"Last I heard, he was thankful he's not straight." Claudia laughed. 

"Has he found the sniper with Hathcock's rifle?" 

"He's found the sniper, not the rifle." 

"Sniper not helping with the chase?" 

"No, he's dead." 

"Of course he is." Stiles laughed, "Claude, I'm going to need a hug when we get back." 

"That's not going to be for a while, Stiles, sorry. You're headed to New York first: there's an Artifact that's causing debilitating politeness." 

"Debilitating how, Claude?" 

"Well, witnesses reported that the victims were simply asked to die, and were too polite to refuse." 

"Okay, that does kind of sound up our alley now." Stiles laughed, "Nat, Big Apple?" 

"I am not taking you to a musical, no matter how many times you flash businessmen on the street." 

"Dude, pics or it didn't happen!" Claudia burst out, flailing so hard Stiles could hear her fall off her chair. 

"Injured?" Nat asked smoothly. 

"Nope! Just wanting to see that, you have either over-sold me or I'm going to be very disappointed he's gay." 

Nat cut over Stiles's impending rant about her telling their handler what he looks like naked, her voice sardonic and not in the least sorry, "Let's hit it, shall we?" 

"I hate you both," Stiles grumbled, "all hugs are revoked: you're not going to see any of my junk, trunk or otherwise." 

"Aw." Natasha whined, laughing. Stiles growled lowly, surprisingly good at it. "I'll make you brownies," Natasha promised. 

"Okay, Tash gets hugs. No free shows anymore, though." 

Claudia laughed, "You can work on 'im, Nat." 

"I was never shy until hurricanes Tash and Claude trashed my life…" Stiles grumbled, Nat snorting in response. 

Claudia Donovan rang off from the call, turning the wheelie chair to HG Wells and sighing, "Do you ever miss Artie, Pete, and Myka?" Helena asked quietly, studying the goo-creature Claudia had created and christened Flubber. 

"You know the answer to that, or you wouldn't be asking." Claudia sighed, "It's good that I still have Jinksy, though." Helena looked up from the purple puddle that was purring in her hand as she pet it between two giant cat ears it'd chosen to form. "What was it you told Myka? In another life, we would have been." 

"Myka and I very nearly were." Helena murmured, "But her partnership with Pete was a stronger pull than any I could have drawn her in with." 

"Jinksy and I work, though." Helena looked up at Claudia with a small, secret smile, nodding. 

"You do. You're brilliant together, Claudia. Almost as good as Stiles and Nat." 

Claudia blew a raspberry instead of rising to the bait, rolling her eyes. "We school those youngins." 

Helena laughed, and Claudia felt a pang for the stunningly beautiful woman next to her. 

"How did you do it, Helena?" 

Raising her brows, Helena looked down at the goo, twisting it into shapes now as it giggled at her sure but gentle hands, "Do what? Live with the knowledge that everyone I love has died? By finding new people to love, my dear, and loving them as much as they'll let me." Helena grinned devilishly as she knocked her own wheelie chair into Claudia's. "So, for our little darlings headed to the Big Apple: what are we considering?" 

"Well, I have a sinking suspicion that it has something to do with the Ms. Manners exhibit going on in an art gallery that is close enough to our victims to be a point in the right direction." 

"I'd say that's a good suspicion." Helena commented dryly. "This Ms. Manners character sounds like a right toad to someone like me." 

Claudia laughed, "It was a polite-society movement for women. The exhibition centers on how archaic the methods were to "perfect" a woman into a lady. Some free-spirit woman that believes, as all us at this lovely little Warehouse do, that women belong armed, dangerous, and wearing the pants in the proverbial family, and she wanted to call to attention the way we use behaviour to emphasize gender roles." 

"Sounds like the kind of woman I'd like to meet." Helena commented. 

"Me, too, but she's disappeared. Not dead that I can find, but we might get a better picture with Stiles and Nat on the ground." 

"In the meantime, I'm to reorganize my little cabinet of curiosities at the Bed and Breakfast." Helena half-groaned as her phone went off. 

Claudia tried and failed to keep cruelty out of her smile. "Have fun!" She grinned, thumbs up. 

Grumbling about not being the one who's an innkeeper, Helena left the Warehouse bent over her phone. 

It was as if the Warehouse had waited for her to leave, rumbling like it was a sleeping wolf Claudia had poked with a sharp stick. Catching her small mountain of paperwork, Claudia looked out of the office window with a raised brow, "Really, guys? _Really_?"


	2. Chapter 2

There were exactly two people that Stiles didn't want to crop up from his past, and in fact actively avoided: Lydia Martin, the woman he'd loved for far too long; and Derek Hale, the man he'd left for having fallen in love with. And, of course, Stiles runs into Lydia Martin in the hotel café, with Natasha right behind him. "Stiles?!" 

Wincing inwardly and wishing he'd gotten over his resistance to his given name, Stiles had to face the redheaded music as she strode towards them, Natasha smothering her smile in her cappuccino. "Lydia, wow, it's been...a long time." He swallowed, and in that one movement, a silent signal, Natasha was to his rescue, setting her cup down and straightening with a smile that could have been enough to deter Lydia. "Lydia, this is my partner, Natasha; Nat, this is Lydia Martin, we went to school together in Beacon Hills." 

Lydia smiled at Natasha, though her eyes didn't leave Stiles for long. "We were old friends." 

"Natasha and I are just on a case, passing through--" 

"Peter and I would _love_ to catch up." Lydia told him, her voice hiding the force with a higher pitch that grated at him. 

"I'm not sure we'll be staying that long." Natasha purred, smiling predatorily.

Lydia's façade fell, one eyebrow cocking, "Not taking time in New York, hm?" 

"No rest for the wicked, Lydia, you know that." Stiles stiffened, biting down a shiver of discomfort running down his spine. Peter Hale stood behind Stiles's overstuffed seat with a smile that made Stiles feel like he was more a jackal than a wolf, "Lovely to see you again, Stiles." 

"Hello, Peter. Natasha, Peter Hale." Natasha regarded him demurely, shaking his hand and leaning into Stiles's side slightly. 

"My darling nephew is in town as well, what a coincidence." 

"Well--" Natasha cut off as none other than Derek Hale sauntered over, scowling at his uncle, shifty-eyed to keep from looking at Stiles. 

"Derek!" Stiles really hoped his ears weren't turning pink, because that would be the end of Natasha's bid to keep him safe from Peter. 

"Derek Hale?" Natasha asked, piqued to the extreme, "I'm Natasha Potts, Stiles's partner in the FBI. I think I might have heard about you." 

Derek cleared his throat, blinking dumbly at her proffered hand before shaking it, "Stiles…" 

"Good to see you, Derek." Stiles butt in immediately, "We haven't talked in two years, it's been so long. We've actually gotta run soon, we've got an appointment." 

"If there's anything we can do to help, Stiles." Peter offered lazily as Stiles gathered their gear and Natasha in jerky movements, "Like I said, it was lovely seeing you, and lovely meeting you, Miss Potts." 

Peter held Natasha's sharp, challenging gaze for a long moment while Stiles stole glances as Derek, flushing lightly, "Thank you, Mr. Hale." She answered simply, eyebrow cocked. 

Stiles only knew she slipped something in Derek's jacket pocket because he knew her. She was the second-best pickpocket he knew, only to himself, and he totally should have seen that coming. 

Ducking into the hazy non-sunshine of a New York morning, Stiles resisted the urge to hiss at her only barely, knowing it'd only serve to get him smote. "Relax, it was just a business card. He looked like a kicked puppy." 

Stiles gave her the most disbelieving look he'd ever mustered, and she only smiled softly at him, patting down his collar, "He looks like a felon." 

"He looks like a wet dream with legs, Stilinski." Natasha laughed. 

"I don't want to talk about it, Nat, let's just...go to the gallery and get the damn Artifact so we can blow this popsicle stand." Stiles fought to ease his hands out of frustrated fists--he knew Natasha was apt, but hearing it made him want to growl like the wolves for the first time since Lydia had rebounded from Jackson with Peter, of all people. 

Natasha was watching him in the quiet, knowing way that made his chest tight with all the secrets he'd kept for so many people for so damn long. "Breathe." She ordered quietly, "When he calls--"

"If."

She raised a challenging eyebrow, " _When he calls_ I'll deal with it. You focus that brain on finding something that could convince someone to be so polite as to kill themselves rather than refuse doing a favour." 

Stiles looked at her for a long time before nodding, "Just...don't feed him some story. We left things...in a weird place." 

"Were pants on the ceiling fan?"

"No." He scoffed.

"Then you did not leave things weird." Nat dismissed, shaking her mess of red curls as she strode to the small, gorgeous motorcycle she'd rented. "There are qualifiers to these things, darling." She called over her shoulder with a smirk. 

"I don't think we can count our life as a qualifier!" 

She shook her head, her attention snapping to a man on a similar bike not far down the line of taxis and traffic in front of the hotel. Making a note to keep an eye out, Natasha turned back to Stiles in order to get the last word, "Who knows, babe: he could've been the Dick to your Bruce." Smirking at the look on his face, she rocketed from the curb as the valet brought around his Jeep. 

The black-clad rider on the second bike followed Stiles, not her. Interesting. 

Natasha activated the Bluetooth Stiles, Claudia, and--unbeknownst to the other two--Tony Stark had put into her helmet, the HUD bringing up Stiles's number, JARVIS chipper as ever. Her call would come over the car stereo with a command from Stiles. "Babe? I think we've got company. Rider, following you. Find a way to lose him where I can pick him up." 

JARVIS did just that on her HUD before Stiles could answer her, and Stiles laid out the same course. "I'll meet you at the gallery if I can, love." 

"Happy hunting." Stiles replied, cutting the call. 

"Mr. Reese? It seems there's more to this particular FBI agent than we first thought. An organization called SHIELD has given him Stark tech...it's a tad more difficult to hack into. Mr. Stilinski appears protected from on high." Harold Finch informed his partner, John Reese, once the snippet of call they'd managed to get cut out. 

"His partner, who is she? And if he's in danger, why isn't she? She seems like the type to protect, not perpetrate." 

"I don't know, Mr.Reese."

"Maybe she'll be so good as to tell me," Reese muttered, driving knowingly into a trap. 

"John, I'd rather we not go into this blind." Finch admonished, voice harsh.

"Relax, Finch: I have no intention on engaging her past talking." 

"She's lying in wait for you, Mr. Reese, you may not get a choice!" 

"Harold? You sound...is there something wrong?" 

"I believe...Mr. Reese, that I have been...back hacked." 

John could hear his partner stumbling from the desk, rumpling for his things, before another voice, tinny but clear, came over the comms, "You're the first to get through as far as you got through, and for that I congratulate you. But I want to know why the fuck I'm being hacked." 

Finch took an involuntary step back, his eyes bugging as his system shifted and combed through things faster than even his computers were supposed to be able to. 

"You call yourself Harold Finch, have an affinity for bird names--tell me your real name isn't Harry Byrd, that would just...I'd laugh, honestly, but that's kind of mean--Your partner is John Reese, also known as the man in the suit, which is a terrible codename and needs to be changed or made sassier with better suits. You get...social security numbers? Seriously, that's the best you can do? And then you help them from whatever Big Bad has sprung up in these people's lives. Do-gooders SHIELD hasn't gotten to yet, huh? Oh, Louis, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!" 

The Stark logo took over Finch's monitors, and he let out a small noise of dismay. 

"Looks like you need an upgrade, professor. Tell you what: let's you and I meet up, my little canary, and talk about options since you tried to hack my system; why you didn't succeed; and who I'm not telling any of this to for your safety as well as my spine. I'll send a car 'round at two for a late lunch, and I'll even dress sharp so you don't outdo me." 

Tony Stark hung up the call, smiling to himself as he imagined the well-kempt man sigh and deflate under having been released from hurricane Tony. 

"JARVIS, keep an eye on our good Mr. Stilinski, will you? Give Nat a message about what we just learned, too. She might want to shake these guys, but at least it makes a good early-warning detection system. My new friend isn't trying to run yet, is he?" 

"No, sir, it seems that he's trying to find how we gained access." 

"Poor guy. Throw 'im a bone, JARVIS, and keep an eye on him. Any movement that isn't that loveable mutt and I want him to be treated with the kind of kid gloves SHIELD won't give him." 

"Yes, sir." JARVIS obeyed with a softened voice, "Need I remind you, sir, that Agent Romanoff is meant to be undercover with no one's knowledge but Agent Coulson and Colonel Fury?"

"If the man honestly doesn't want me to know, he won't put it on a computer." 

"He didn't, sir." 

"Well, then...he shouldn't have picked Tash. She does what she wants." 

"Too true, sir, but besides the point."


	3. Play Fair

Claudia and the Warehouse had a very symbiotic relationship: it no longer zapped her in the bum, and she kept everything running smoothly. No silly string in the gooery; no using magnetic lab coats to screw in any lightbulbs. Things were scanned for micro-bugs, because although Doug Fargo and she still emailed, she didn't really want to get involved in Eureka; and she was meticulous about her firewalls. She wasn't sure _she_ could hack her own system anymore, let alone someone from the outside, but as the Warehouse rumbled, Claudia began to worry. There hadn't been anything wrong. No disturbances, the expansion was fine, and nothing had been put together that would be a bad idea since Claudia put Marvin Acme's actual exploding pen next to a goblet said to have been what Jesus used to turn water to wine--which made ink into a ball of flame, but you live and learn. Claudia braced herself as the Warehouse rumbled again, hard, and she caught Pete and Myka's favourite dodgeball as she sped by under it, grumbling as she stopped and walked over to re-shelve it. 

"Alright, baby girl, what's wrong?" Claudia heaved, exasperated. "Steve will be back soon!" Another rumble, "Stiles loves and misses you!" 

Getting not even a rumble in response, Claudia sighed and continued to work her way through the aisles. She was passing Excalibur as a shot of white light knocked her off the Artie-mobile, the light materializing into a person as she landed, elbows-first, on the hard Warehouse floor. 

"Son of a cock-loving whore!" Claudia cried, whining pitifully for her damaged elbows. 

The oldest, most rickety little old man Claudia had ever seen was standing before her, green eyes laughing. He offered a gnarled hand, like he could withstand much more than being touched with a moth's wing, but simply reached down and heaved her upright when she didn't take it, the guise falling away as he set her on her feet. "It's Merlin, actually. Hi!" A spritely young British boy with a fluffy black hair cut was standing where the old man was, and Claudia would have fainted if she hadn't seen weirder. 

"Merlin. _The_ Merlin. You're supposed to be a myth!" Claudia squeaked, "Artie told me you were a myth!" 

He was laughing quietly, his smile soft and charming, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm afraid I'm as real as you are." 

"You're Merlin. Okay...why are you in my Warehouse?" 

"Warehouse 13?! Lovely! I haven't seen a Warehouse since 9." Merlin chirped, looking around. 

"Nine?!" Claudia burst, "You've been around since 9?!" 

"My dear Miss..." 

"Donovan."

"Miss Donovan--" 

"But, ye gods, call me Claudia." 

He smiled, "Claudia, let's put it this way: I look bloody well-preserved for my age." 

"Oh, god, tell me you aren't immortal. Immortals and me don't get along, I usually end up having to kill them, and you seem like a really sweet kid..." 

"I'm not immortal: mortal wounds can kill me." Merlin drew back part of his shirt, revealing scarred skin, "At least, when I'm not saved from them." 

Claudia looked from his ruined skin to his face, sighing. "I'll make tea in the office: you can explain to me there." 

"I'd rather love some coffee, if you don't mind. I've acquired a taste for it." 

"Can I adopt you?" 

"I come with a dragon." 

"That is quite possibly the coolest thing a guy has ever told me about himself." 

"But...Excalibur...it pulled me here?" Merlin hesitated, looking back at the sword and its stone. 

"It did kinda poof you here. One minute you weren't, then you were." 

Merlin's sharp eyes snapped up to Claudia's, burningly intense, "You've found the puzzlebox of Avalon." 

"Ye--What?!" 

"I made this sword for Arthur! I cast it into the lake that I pushed the death boat onto! Years ago, I asked for a sign to show me when Arthur would once again be king: when Avalon would need him most--a puzzlebox and the sword were cast into the world, and when the puzzlebox fell into just the right hands, Excalibur would bring me forth and tell me that Arthur will rise." 

"Shit--Stiles!" Claudia realized, thoughts on his long, nimble hands. "One of my agents is the descendant of Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russel, two of the most brilliant minds in history, and both of them loony to boot. Russel adored his hands; extolled that they were passed on to their only child. And Stiles has those hands now. And he's got the puzzlebox..." 

Claudia was running through the stacks, Merlin keeping easy pace with her. "He can solve it?!" 

"Without even meaning to." 

Stiles was abstractedly singing to himself, his mind in California years before. 

There was a soft click from the direction of his palms, and Stiles blinked himself into awareness, looking down to find the puzzlebox lying open in his undamaged hands. "...Shit. Claude's gonna kill me." 

The small startle from behind him made Stiles flail slightly, whirling to find a tall, blond, naked man standing in the middle of the art gallery, shaking and staring at him. Stiles was wincing even before he pulled his Farnsworth out, _"You know I'm going to kill you, right?"_

"Claudia, I swear, I didn't do it." 

_"Says the most guilty person in history."_

Stiles wordlessly turned the Farnsworth around to Naked Guy, and Claudia swore at him in Yiddish, of all things. 

_"That would be Arthur--"_ Merlin cut off as Arthur advanced towards the sound of his voice, looking wild. 

"Hi, who?" Stiles demanded. 

"I am King Arthur Pendragon, of Camelot." Stiles stared at the supposed king, not understanding for a long, silent moment. 

_"That was Merlin. As in the wizar--"_

Arthur hissed angrily, looking furiously around at the patrons who were still openly staring at him. Stiles sighed. _"Arthur,"_ Merlin called his attention gently, and Stiles turned the screen so that Arthur could see and hear him properly, _"it's thought a dream in this time; not a crime. I'm in no danger."_ Arthur visibly relaxed and Stiles narrowed his eyes, turning the Farnsworth back to himself. 

"I'm going to postulate that I need that guy here." Stiles half-demanded. 

_"I concur."_ Claudia agreed shortly, anger in her voice, _"We're on our way."_

"Um, Stiles, darling, why the hell wasn't I invited to the nudist part of this expedition?" Natasha asked silkily, sidling up gracefully and blinking at him. 

"Meet King Arthur." 

"M'lady--" Arthur chose that moment to notice he was naked, and Natasha had to fight against her laughter as he scrambled to cover himself. 

"Here you go. Put those on the bottom. This goes on the top." John Reese handed a bundle of clothes over to the king of Camelot like it was nothing new for him. 

"Ex-CIA: your new guardian angel. You're in grave danger." Natasha intoned. 

"No, darling: Wednesday's the day after tomorrow." 

"Good movie, considering. Then again, I like Dennis Quaid." 

"Strange, strange little redhead..." Stiles muttered, shaking his head at her. 

Natasha smiled prettily, wrapping her arm around Stiles's waist, "You love me." 

"I don't know what is with you and lunatic redheads, Stiles." Peter Hale commented smoothly, sauntering up behind Arthur. 

Lydia pinched his side, scowl-pouting. "Mr and Mrs Hale. Lovely to see you both again. Bye." Stiles tried, Natasha holding him in place with a pitiful lack of force, considering. 

"You followed Agents Stilinski and Potts from the hotel?" Reese asked, looming threateningly. 

"No, actually, my darling wife was a friend of Marcia Hargret, the curator of this expedition." 

"Have you seen Miss Hargret?" Natasha cut through Peter's slinky purr. 

"No, we haven't. We were meant to meet three nights ago for a modern art installation--much like your blond friend here." Lydia snapped back, drawing herself fully up, casting an appraising look over Arthur. "Hari never showed, and when she called, she sounded...off." 

"Off like she was so polite it was revolting?" Stiles asked, catching on his favourite adjective. 

Lydia flinched, staring at him oddly. "How did you...?" 

"Common problem in New York now. _Don't touch anything_." Reese replied, taking Natasha's elbow and leading her and Stiles from the gallery. 

"Stiles, Derek would so love to have dinner with you." Lydia called, "You should let him call." Her emerald eyes flashed as they met his, and Stiles walked back to them, reaching around and taking Arthur's elbow to lead him away, too. 

"You, of all people, know why I won't." He told her coldly, walking easily away from the woman who'd once owned him. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smile twisting her lips, "Angel eyes, I think you just grew a set. Made of brass." 

"Please, sweetheart," Stiles drawled like a bad gangster movie, "These babies is made o' platinum." 

"You give me a headache." Natasha sighed. 

"You love me."


	4. I Have Sent For a Warrior

Harold got into the car waiting outside the Library like a man about to go to the gallows, a pretty, tan redhead sitting in the limousine with him. "Mr. Finch, I'm Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries. Tony asked me to meet with you before your lunch date." Pepper rattled off, schematics engrossing her on her lap, "Also, he's asked to have me give you these." From the pile, Pepper pulled out a sheaf of grease-smeared yet unbelievably beautiful blueprints, not even glancing at them as she handed them over, "He said you'd find these particularly promising, given your background, Mr. Finch. Now, before we arrive, I'd like to forewarn you that there are more players in the game than you realize. I assume the Avengers are a familiar concept, and, being that Tony called me at three in the morning to have me flown back down here to escort you personally, you know enough to be privy to SHIELD's existence. What you and your partner do, I'm told--and Tony sounded like a five-year-old with a new Playstation, I might add--is nothing short of heroic. Tony would like to see you continue your work unmolested, but chasing after Agents Stilinski and Potts is hardly a good idea." 

Harold jerked slightly, things connecting in his mind, "Miss Potts..." 

"Mrs., actually. Natasha Potts is my wife. Also known as the Black Widow." Pepper smiled encouragingly, Harold holding the gorgeous schematics in stunned-loose hands, "She's currently undercover to keep SHIELD from a kind of weapons bunker, by request of Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury's great-grandmother, Mrs. Fredric. It would be very kind of you to stop looking into Natasha's background: JARVIS, Tony's AI, has been busting himself building in a more complete life for you to see, so that SHIELD wouldn't be tipped to your search and thereby tipped to what Natasha's doing. Do you follow thus far, Mr. Finch?" 

The beautiful redhead inclined her head slightly, brows raised, and Harold found himself nodding dumbly, forcing his eyes down to the schematics for what appeared to be a computer system better than his, and five times more compact. Harold's eyes widened, his brows drawing almost to his hairline, and Pepper simply smiled her crimson-lipped smile, "I must say, Miss Potts, this is all..." 

"Welcome to the lion's den, Mr. Finch. And don't worry about your anonymity: we want you kept hidden just as much as you want to hide." 

The door to the limo opened, Pepper nodding her goodbyes, unmoving to go through. Pepper looked back down at the latest designs for her armour as Harold climbed out, sighing to herself softly. 

It was lightning-fast: one minute, she was alone in the back of the limo, and the next, Natasha had slipped through the door at a stop light and slid over the leather seat to kiss her, fingers on Pepper's jaw. Pepper felt herself flush, kissing her wife back as Natasha threw herself into it with the kind of abandon that spelled a time limit. Natasha smiled, stroking just under Pepper's lips when they broke away, her eyes dark and playfully seductive, "When did you get back?" She asked, voice deep and smooth. 

Pepper pulled her in again, running her hand through the short, soft curls. "Tony just called me back, I haven't even gotten out of the car since getting off the plane." Natasha hummed in response, kissing her lips in devastatingly chaste presses, teasing her. 

"Mmm, then let's go home: I have...no where near long enough, but I can call Stiles and leave a proverbial sock on the door with his bodyguard on his tail." 

Pepper battled with better self for all of five seconds before giving in, "I'll take my opportunities when I can get them." She murmured, pulling Natasha's hair back with her hands, and trailing kisses over her cheek into Natasha's neck, "The Tower, please, Marcus!" 

Natasha slid her phone out of her pocket, dialling without looking, "Stiles? Hey, babe, I...uh...The art consultant I'm visiting is...well, code mauve, darling. Have a good night without me." 

Stiles snorted, shaking his head in amusement, "I'll hang out with Reese, no worries. You haven't called code mauve since Istanbul." 

"And then Istanbul blew up, I know; I'll be careful." Natasha laughed, hanging up. 

Stiles turned to the ex-CIA agent, shrugging at him, "We're on our own. Code mauve has meant days before." 

"Mauve?" 

"Red sounded too dangerous, though it's fitting for Tash. With mauve, though, it's non-threatening." 

Reese's brow furrowed, his eyes calculating. 

Stiles startled as his phone went off, and he snatched it out of the air from having almost dropped it in surprise. He frowned, not recognizing the number, "Hello?" 

"Stiles?" Derek Hale's voice was a slap of familiarity. "I...uh...It was good to see you this morning." 

Stiles's brows drew together, and he turned, watching Arthur watch television with a look of dazed awe. "Um...yeah, it was. Nat, uh, dropped my card into your pocket, she's tricky like that." 

"No, actually...she just called and gave me your number. She said you were in danger...?"

"Not really. I've got a bodyguard and everything, I'm good. In fact, I'm so good I may even--"

"Stiles, where we left things...it's awkward, I know, but--" 

"Actually, the measure for awkward goodbyes starts with pants being left on the ceiling fan the morning after." Stiles ground out, suddenly tired, "We left things where they were obviously meant to be left: I'm happy where I am in life, Derek. I've got a job I love, a partner I'd probably die without, and anything else is superfluous. I left Beacon Hills because Lydia was with Peter; my dad didn't think of me as a son anymore; and because you didn't care. It doesn't matter. It was years ago. I've gotten over it. You should, too, man. So, here it is, unawkward as possible: Goodbye, Derek. Be happy." Stiles simply hung up, licking his lips and sighing through his nose. "Lurch, let's get plastered, shall we?" Reese's lips twitched at the new nickname, but he didn't comment, taking Stiles's phone and turning it off before putting it back in his pocket and patting his chest. 

They turned to the door, Reese reaching for his gun as Stiles levelled the Tesla, but it swung open to Claudia and a tall, gangly black-haired boy, his blue eyes sweeping the room as Arthur leapt to his feet at the sight of him. "Merlin!" 

Merlin's face cracked into a light like sunrise, letting Arthur pull him into a bonecrushing embrace, "Arthur, how do you feel?" Merlin asked quietly, hands sliding to Arthur's shoulders and blue eyes penetrating. 

"Very much alive." Arthur affirmed, pulling him in again, "I have missed you, old friend. Forgive me for having taken so long." 

Claudia sauntered past the embracing boys, sidling up to Stiles with a suspicious look at Reese, "You and your little friend tried to hack my system." 

"It's the only system he hasn't ever been able to hack." 

"Claudia Donovan. I like you. Keep track of him. He's a slippery weasel." 

Stiles hugged her, grinning, before he let Reese and Claudia shake hands. "John Reese." 

"Nice to meet you." 

"So, is Jinksy coming up here once he's done getting shot at?" Stiles asked, "Whole, happy family?" 

"Mmm, I think I might just send for him, what with an imminent threat on your life and all." 

"Which, really, is nothing new." 

"But this is the first time you've had a ping of...these guys." Claudia gestured jerkily at Reese. 

Stiles shrugged, "Too far away, I guess." 

Claudia shook her head, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt, "Tell me what's wrong?" 

"Derek Hale. And I would really appreciate getting drunk right about now."

"I'll be here with Arthur, Claudia, thank you." Merlin murmured, unable to wipe away his shining smile. 

"Come, Thing One; Thing Two!" Claudia summoned grandly, sweeping towards the door with a flourish, "First round's on me!" 

Arthur seemed quite unwilling to let go of Merlin at all, his smile indelible. "Tell me, Arthur: what's heaven like?" Merlin asked, the television muted, sitting together on the lumpy couch. 

Arthur was wringing his hands, ignoring the question for a long moment while he seemed to be building up nerve. "I've been learning," Arthur nodded to the television, "and there's something I want to try, Merlin." 

"Bungee-jumping sounds a lot better than it is, Arthur: you have to hang upside down there for a long time before you get let free, and it's really not worth the headache from the bloodrush for how long the fall is. Sky-diving I'd consider, but not for a few more--" Merlin cut off as Arthur's mouth closed on his. Blushing furiously, Merlin looked at Arthur's bright pink lips, his eyes half-lidded, "You..." 

"That is what I wanted to try." Arthur whispered, his still-calloused hand against Merlin's neck. 

"A-And, what are your findings?" Merlin stuttered out, licking his lips unconsciously. Arthur dove back in, kissing him again, earnest and heart rending. Merlin hummed, pulling them together with shaking hands and hugging Arthur's full frame against his lighter one. 

"You and I could be together in this time; I'm not a king, and you're not a servant--your magic is no longer a threat to your life, Merlin. It could be easy." 

"Easy doesn't much sound like the two of us, Arthur." Merlin smiled, "Besides; you'd get bored." He pulled Arthur back in, licking into his mouth. 

Arthur had a handful of Merlin's t-shirt, tugging on it to get Merlin to come closer; to straddle his lap and press against his chest. Wrapping a solid arm around Merlin's waist, Arthur groaned happily as Merlin kissed him dizzy, his fingers unintentionally desperate in clinging to him. Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin's collarbone when they broke apart, panting. Merlin's long fingers were stroking through his hair, and Arthur wanted to fall into Merlin's arms and never get back up, the weight of aeons pressing in on him with Merlin close enough to touch at last. One hand cupped his cheek, angling his head up so that Merlin could look him in the eye. He pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's lips, chaste, and smiled. 

"I love you, Arthur Pendragon. I've missed you terribly." 

Arthur surged up, kissing those words from Merlin's lips, wanting to imprint that he was _here_ as deeply as possible. "I missed you, too. I love you, too." 

Merlin grinned, impish as ever, "You've forgiven me hiding my magic?" 

"I forgave you almost immediately, Merlin. You did it to save your life, so that you could also save mine. Thank you. And, please, tell me you've forgiven me for...well, for everything." 

"It wasn't your doing, Arthur; I've always known that." 

"There were...so many times. You could have gotten rid of my father, Merlin. But you didn't."

"You weren't ready to be king, Arthur. I knew that: I understood." Arthur brought him up for another kiss, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug, his smile huge. 

"Thank you."


	5. All To Myself

Danny Mahelani grinned up at the handsome ATF agent pulling him out from behind his cover. "I was told things were touchy..." 

Steve Jinks smiled shyly back, "Danger's over now." He shook the super-sized static bag, shrugging. 

"Well, it's worth it. Thanks for saving this place: we're here building schools for the summer, I'm just glad Rebecca took the kids to the corner store. I'm Danny." 

Steve took Danny's offered hand, antsy but oddly nervous, "Steve Jinks. Every thing's safe now." 

"Thanks." Danny pulled out the dimples, and Steve wanted to shake himself, "Want to come and bask in the heroic glory? I'll buy you an ice cream." 

"I...that'd be really nice, thanks, but I've gotta--" Steve gestured to the static bag, wincing. 

Danny shrugged, "Then go take care of that...and then we can get a drink instead." 

Steve grinned, excitement flowing through him for the first time in an age, "Deal." 

An hour later, Danny was singing to himself, dancing goofily as he got ready for his hot date, talking with Lydia on speakerphone. "He's so cute, Lyds. And he _threw_ himself on me to knock me out of the path of a bullet, and god was he hot." 

Lydia was laughing at him from her hotel suite in New York, shaking her head at him. "Why would an ATF agent be in Brazil?" 

"Rumour on the street is that the gun he grabbed up has some sort of high-tech capabilities for aim. I don't know, just this one guy was assassinated from an impossible shot." Lydia looked suspicious, and Danny just rolled his eyes at her, "No: no! I am not going to hack into anything to background-check him, and I'm not even going to look him up on Facebook. He's an ATF agent, and he saved my life, that's all I need to know for my life to instantly become a romantic comedy instead of my life being some sort of side-character in a horror film who only makes it on good-looks and irresistible charm alone. I just totally sounded like Stilinski, there, didn't I?" 

Lydia was laughing again, "You did, Danny, you really did. Did I tell you I saw him here?" 

"What? No, you didn't." Danny muttered, his brows drawing together, "So he's not dead like I thought he'd be. Cool. Will he be there when I get there, you figure?" 

"He says no, but you never know what's going to happen." Lydia smiled, pure evil, and Danny shook his head fondly. "He's an FBI agent now. Small, deadly, redheaded partner. He's missed me." 

"You've missed him." Danny corrected sardonically. "Think he's happy?" 

"I think he's...I don't know, Danny. I think he's cut himself off from most everyone back home, and I just...I think he's still angry." 

"What went down again? I was never privy to that at the time." 

Lydia sighed, "Stiles fell for an emotionally stunted lunatic with more issues than brains." 

"I thought he'd gotten over you..." Danny sassed, wrinkling his nose as she scowled at him. 

"Excuse me, I have way more brains than issues." 

"Only on Tuesdays and bank holidays." Danny retorted, making a face at her before closing the call in a blindingly happy mood.

And, when Danny got to the little bar in the hotel Steven Jinks had been staying at, the mood only slightly fell when he was presented with a hand-written note from Steve telling him he'd been summoned immediately back States-side. His own flight would leave the next morning, and nothing could have come of it anyway. 

Boarding the flight, however, found Danny sitting next to a familiar face. "Agent Jinks!" 

"Danny! Uh...please, just call me Steve. Sorry for bailing on you last night." 

"You were one of the passengers on that flight that wouldn't leave last night, weren't you?" Danny asked knowingly, wincing for him. "That could not have been fun." 

"It wasn't. I would've much rather have been having a drink with you." Steve told him earnestly, and Danny dimpled, pleased. 

"Well, it seems we got a second chance." Danny murmured flirtatiously. "Are you headed to New York, or is that just a stop-over?" 

"Uh, no. I'm headed to New York. You?" 

Danny nodded, grinning still, "I'm meeting up with some old friends to see this art opening about feminism." 

Steve froze, his face paling just slightly, "Um...the one curated by Marcia Hargret?" 

"Uh, yeah..." Danny muttered, blushing. "Why? Don't tell me you've been ordered there next." 

"Oh, no. No, I just...read about it." Steve lied, extremely badly if Danny's expression had anything to say about it. "Well, not to the gallery, just...Um..." 

"Um...you wouldn't happen to know Stiles Stilinski, FBI?" 

Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I do know Stiles. He's a good agent. Worked with him once or twice." 

"Or consistently?" Danny asked, giving him a kind but knowing look. "I don't know what you can or can't tell me. I'm level seven security clearance for the CIA, I deal in Interpol and MI6 relations with the US. The mess in New York a few years ago? The files that silenced the politicos..." 

"You found the dirt on senator Wylee?" 

"And congressman Evanesca. Dude, I get secrecy, believe me. I only build schools on my vacations, and that's the most I can really tell my family. Just...should I be calling my friends in New York to warn them?" 

"No. No, we've got a pretty, uh...crack team, y'know." 

Danny dimpled, "Okay, then. So, would you like to go to an art gallery grand opening with me?" 

Steve blushed, "Uh...actually, I'd love to." 

Stiles and Lydia were both standing at the arrivals terminal when the plane landed, Stiles studiously trying to resist engaging her in conversation. Steve grinned at him wide, walking alongside Danny, though his focus was on the tension in Stiles's features. 

"Drew short-straw for pick-up, huh?" Steve asked conversationally as they drew close enough. 

"Claudia's filling my bodyguard in about what not to do while I'm working a case, and Nat's babysitting." 

"Brazil sends its love." 

"I'm sure she does." Stiles deadpanned, backing up and nearly stepping into the mountain of a man behind him. "Derek! Wow, you still move really quietly for being Herculean. Good for you. Danny, hi. Bye." 

"Stiles, wait--" Derek reached out, grabbing his arm, and it was the first time ever Steve had seen someone grab Stiles, because most people had a broken finger before they even made contact. Stiles's dark eyes flashed, and Steve and Danny both rushed to step in before Stiles took Derek's head off. 

"No, boys." Stiles shrugged fluidly, looking more dangerous by the second, "I'll handle this myself." Stepping away from the group just enough to be unheard, Stiles pulled close to the solid man beside him, "Derek, if you ever grab me again, I'll break your arm off and beat you with the wet end. I'm not a sixteen-year-old anymore, and I've seen worse than some big bad in a leather jacket. Now, while I appreciate that time with Cora has made you more talkative; I don't fucking care. I will not be going backwards when I've worked so hard to keep moving forward. Have a nice day." His smile was reminiscent of the emissary sent out of the gates of Mordor to meet the armies of Gondor, only white-teethed. 

Stiles returned to Steve and took his leave of Danny with a friendly nod and Lydia with a screwed up half-smile. "What was that, and can I just say that you terrify me?" 

"That was an almost-ex, and yes; yes, you can say that." Stiles mumbled back, and Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he let Stiles lead him to the car. 

"You terrify me." Stiles laughed, throwing his head back. Steve snorted, shaking his head, "No, really, I thought I was scared of Natasha, but you are like an adorable puppy until you decide it's worth the effort to kill someone. Then, you scare the life out of me." 

"It's a cleaner way to murder." Stiles purred silkily, fluttering the fringe of dark eyelashes with a goofy smile. "Let's get something to eat and I'll fill in all the sordid details. You're going to love this. There's love and drama and relatively hot naked guy in the middle of the art gallery--yeah, it's been that fun." Stiles held the door with a flourish and a mock bow. 

"Let's start with naked guy." 

"I thought you'd wanna start with naked guy, yeah. C'mon." Swinging himself up into the truck, Stiles grinned sharply like there was nothing in the world wrong, swinging the truck out merrily. "So, the puzzle box of Avalon was a summoning whatsit to bring back King Arthur--yes, that one--to be the once and future king--all that spiel. Merlin is real; he's actually kind of adorable, and Arthur is totally his once and future boner buddy." 

"Oh, my god!" Steve cried, raising his hands to make the words stop. "No, don't--just don't. No. This--" 

"Oh, honey: we haven't even gotten to the weird part yet." Stiles laughed maniacally. "And, yes; Claudia is pissy about the fact that Artie was wrong." 

"I'm not going to want to join this hunt, am I?" 

"I've a bodyguard because some pair of vigilante do-gooders with perfect prediction records predicted me in mortal danger sometime in the next two days. Ex-CIA and a hacker. It's weird." 

"You're kidding." 

"I wish I were. Now I have Lurch following me and Nat worried and there is not enough alcohol in the world, I'll have you know." 

"You're in danger every day." 

"That's what I said!" 

Steve smiled softly, shaking his head. 

"So Nat is with Merlin and Arthur right now, trying to make sure that his Kingliness doesn't slip the proverbial leash until he's better acquainted with the twenty-first century. My vote is for wings and beer and bad choices." 

"Last time I agreed to one of these, you disappeared for three days to bang Mr. Wrong like a screen door in a hurricane." Stiles grinned, and Steve groaned, "Amelia would be very, very disapproving." 

"Are you kidding? Last time I had one of my bad days, she took me to a male strip club and bought me five consecutive lap dances." 

"Why are you everyone's favourite?" Steve hissed jealously, scowling. 

"It's because I'm adorable." Stiles threw a glance over to Steve, his eyes bright, "So, tell me about the cozy with Danny." 

"Damn your eyes." 

"Spill." 

"He's...cute. And...and he's smart, and he has dimples." 

"Oh, he pulled out the dimples. He must like you." Stiles muttered teasingly. 

"Have you ever been on the receiving end of the dimples?" 

"I--" 

"Human lie detector." 

"...I have, yeah. Once. It, um...there was an incident...Sex Ed, he found out my condom size." 

Steve was staring at him in profile as if his very will could make Stiles burst into flames. It kind of worked; Stiles's ears couldn't burn much hotter without actually combusting. "I hate you and your ginormous dick."


	6. Need to Know Now

"Have you ever considered becoming a Secret Service agent, Merlin?" Stiles asked idly, "I daresay you could do the job." 

"I've been in Europe for the majority of my life. I never wanted to stray too far." Merlin replied from under five blankets and Arthur, his fingers idly pulling through Arthur's hair. Arthur shifted his head, looking up at him, "And yet you come back in America, and I get yanked halfway around the world." 

Arthur grinned, unrepentant. 

From the room adjoining theirs, an unholy groan sounded, and Stiles winced at the sound of Steve rolling out of his bed onto the floor. "Stilinski!" 

Stiles looked guilty as hell, casting a sideways look at Merlin and Arthur on the other bed. "Yes, darling?" 

"Did you put me in five-inch, hot pink pumps last night and call me Minnie Tesla?" 

"Whatever do you mean, dearest?" Stiles already knew, with the perfect clarity of someone who hadn't really been drinking, that Steve had gotten up on stage in little more than said pumps, a glittery bustier, and a highlighter-orange boa to sing some unnameable Kylie song that Stiles had had to restrain himself from taking video of. 

"The last thing I remember was..." 

"Doing body shots off of Danny's abs?" Stiles guessed, one brow quirked.

Steve stumbled to the open adjoining door, looking worse than hell, "Oh, no...no, no, no. I did do that, didn't I?" 

"You did." Claudia informed him, coming in the room on Steve's side and goosing him while she had the chance. "You're lucky Stiles ran into boyfriend, or he might not have been able to drag your ass home..." 

"Boyfriend? Is that why we went out last night?" Steve whined, dragging himself back into the room, barely letting Claudia dodge into the other room. They watched as Steve's foot swung through the air, a sign that he had collapsed on his bed face-first in the wrong direction.

"Where's Natasha and Lurch?" Stiles asked, curling so that his head rested on Claudia's thigh. 

"Lurch is touching base with his people, and Nat's sweet-talked her way into a meeting of the circles Hargret used to run in." 

"Uber-feminist, they'll like Tash." Stiles sighed, compartmentalizing as he went. "And he is not Boyfriend; he's not even Friend, and he would probably throw up in his mouth for the implication of being friends with me. Now, since Lurch and Nat are off, I'd like to go back to the gallery myself and actually complete the tour, maybe pick out something that's missing." 

"I still don't get how you do that." Claudia sighed, nodding, "Go do the voodoo that you do, darlin', and keep me posted. I'm going to help his royal hangover--" 

"We should go with him." Arthur cut in, terrifyingly set. 

"That's--" 

"Arthur is right, and he's been watching telly to acquaint himself, but some time with the people might also help." Merlin spoke up. "We can make sure nothing happens out there, and Dumbledore knows he needs a break." 

Claudia's features became a mask of shocked overjoy, her hands folding against her chest as she squealed that Merlin had used Dumbledore's name in the same manner Dumbledore would've used Merlin's. With a cheeky grin, Merlin stood and helped Arthur up, nodding to Stiles to lead the way. 

"Have fun!" Claudia teased, waving them out of the door. She whipped around and strode through the door to Steve's room, flicking him hard on the knee, "Hey, poopypants: I need to talk to you!" 

Steve groaned eloquently, and shifted just enough for an eyebrow and part of an eye to peek out from under the pillow he'd firmly cocooned his head under. 

"There's something rotten in the state of New York, Steve. As Pete would say, I'm getting a bad vibe." 

"What kind of vibe?" 

"Warehouse-in-danger kind of vibe. Remember when Nat joined and you yelled at me about change being necessary and that I was just feeling weird because I liked Stiles so much and I missed Myka? Something still doesn't feel right with Nat. She doesn't travel with Stiles; she disappears--"

"She is a double agent." Mrs. Fredric finished, appearing out of nowhere. 

Claudia and Steve had both jumped out of their skins, faces going pale. "What?!"

"She is not an FBI agent; she is an agent for SHIELD. I called her in from my great-nephew's organization to help make sure that that very organization remains in the dark about ours."

"How could you--"

" _Why..._?" 

"--this is--" 

"I am caretaker now, you don't--" 

"Claudia," Mrs. Fredric interrupted, hands raised, "Steve, the Warehouse needs to be protected, especially from organizations such as SHIELD." 

"They did try to weaponize something that destroyed most of New York." Steve reasoned to Claudia, but Claudia wasn't backing down. 

"I agree that it'd be bad, but sending in a double agent--and Stiles has been working with her! She's been his partner, that he's been trusting his life to--" 

"He's perfectly safe--maybe more safe than he would be even with the two of you. Natasha is an asset and she would never allow injury to come to any of you." 

"Claud!" Steve jumped in front of the verbal reaming Claudia was building into, holding up his hands, "I know that losing Pete, Myka, and Artie's messed with you, but Stiles really has been more safe; we all have. Now, I assume we're being told about this because something has changed?" 

"Mr. Reese and his associate, Mr. Finch, have brought things to a head; Natasha will have to move on soon enough, or SHIELD will start asking questions that ought not to be answered. This...will be her last mission with us." Steve reached out, snagging Claudia's sleeve and dragging her back until she could fall onto the bed, shocked silent, "Once this case is through; she will remain in New York, and return to her wife and family. Mr. Reese and Mr. Finch have a colleague willing to help us fake Natasha Potts' death in order to throw off the suspicion of SHIELD's watchdogs, and Natasha has made contact with a replacement agent." 

Claudia's fists clenched, "And...this faked death...will Stiles be allowed to know?" She knew the answer by the look in Irene Fredric's eye, and she deflated, taking Steve's hand in a death grip and bowing her head. 

~

Derek sat at the hotel café, his eyes on the coffee in front of him and the ridiculous foamy drink he remembered Stiles drinking before. 

"What are you doing?" Stiles demanded, dropping into the chair opposite. 

Derek looked up at him, "I knew that you'd take pity on me." 

Stiles shook his head slowly, looking down at the drink, "A salted caramel mocha?" 

"I thought y-you...I thought you had had it--" 

Stiles nodded quickly, taking a quick drink to stop the awkward stuttering. "What's going on? Why now?" 

"Because I haven't damn well seen you in years!" Derek burst, immediately deflating, his ears going red. "Why the hell did you disappear?" 

"Why do you think?" Stiles hissed, "You made it clear after the nogitsune that I didn't belong." 

"Stiles, no. I didn't mean it that way. Please." 

"Derek, why are you chasing me?" 

"Because I want you back, goddamnit!" 

Stiles flinched, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Where is Lurch when I need him?" He shoved off from the table, striding away and collecting Arthur and Merlin. 

Derek sighed, sitting back and looking back down at the coffee, going over, for the billionth time, what had happened between them; what had driven Stiles into running from his home. 

He knew he had several people besides himself to blame; but he also knew that he so easily could've stopped it from getting that far. 

Scott had been forced to leave after the nogitsune had made an attempt on Melissa McCall's life, and Stiles's father hadn't really recovered. Lydia and Peter getting together had been the last straw, it'd seemed. But, really, it hadn't been: Stiles had told Derek, one night after Derek had nearly died for Chris Argent yet again, that he'd been in love with him for years. And Derek had rebuffed him, because he couldn't have even the happiness of being with his mate. Cora had called him an idiot immediately, the day after Stiles had left, and he'd deserved it. Lydia didn't know where he'd gone; not even Stiles's father had known until Stiles had gotten through training to get into the FBI and had made contact again. 

Derek knew that the sheriff regretted those days almost more than Derek himself did. 

And if there was no way for him to make amends; Derek wasn't sure what he would do with himself.


End file.
